


Into The Unknown

by VenetaPsi



Category: Banana Bus Squad, Frozen (Disney Movies), The Misfits (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Alternate Universe - Frozen (Disney Movies) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Inspired by OST, Inspired by song, Late at Night, Light Angst, Loneliness, Magic, Movie: Frozen 2 (2019), Realistic, Song: Into the Unknown (Disney), Spirits, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: “Maybe,” John whispered softly, stepping down onto the rocky beach, the water a few inches from the tips of his boots. “Maybe you’re someone like me.”He couldn’t dare to hope, dare to think, but here in the silent night, where time felt infinite, where he felt completely and utterly alone- he wished. Begged, even.“Maybe you know...I’m not supposed to be here. With all of them. I’m not like them.”----Ficlet inspired by hibye023 on Instagram's fanart of John for the song 'Into The Unknown'
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Into The Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet inspired by hibye023 on Instagram's fanart of John for the song 'Into The Unknown'
> 
> hibye's fanart was based off of the song, not the movie. This ficlet was based off of a combination of the song and the cutscene associated with it from the movie, alongside some original exposition. NO spoilers to Frozen, unless you count modified versions of a couple lyrics of the song as spoilers. John is /not/ a carbon copy of Elsa.
> 
> I loved your fanart, hibye <3 Hit me up if you see this and want me to put a picture of the art in with the story. Also let me know if you have an Ao3 account. If you do, I can gift this work to you.

He knelt in the dark, fingers running a steady line back and forth over the rough fabric of the carpet beneath him. The house was dark and quiet around him; every other occupant long since asleep. 

John was cold, sitting there in only his jeans from earlier that day and the thin blue sweater he’d pulled on as he left his room. He was used to the sensation, though. Was familiar with it. At this point it hardly bothered him. 

He watched the last dying embers of that day’s fire, nestled in the hearth; a thin layer of deep red and orange that cast a weak glow across the room, bathed the corners in heavy shadows. 

The silence was broken suddenly, by a voice. High and echoey, it rung throughout the room; not words, but a crystal clear series of notes. John didn’t even start, never glanced away from the fire. 

He felt it though. 

A pull, a gentle tugging directly in the center of his chest that had been plaguing him for days, since the exact moment that now-familiar voice had begun to echo. Felt the sudden race of his heartbeat when the call ended, when silence flooded back in to where the sudden voice had pushed it away. 

Back and forth, his fingers moved across the carpet. 

The call sounded again, louder; more urgent, but just as sweet and melodic as it always was. 

“I hear you,” He whispered to the air, as soon as silence fell once more. “No one else does. But I hear you.” 

The words felt foreign on his tongue; strange when they were released to air. 

“I’m not listening.” 

It was a lie, spoken to silence. Slowly John climbed to his feet, wrapping his arms around himself as he swept away from the fire; whatever heat it had been producing seeping out of him instantly as he left the bedchamber and stepped out into the hall. 

It felt strange to walk through the empty house. He was used to seeing staff, seeing his parents, his sister. His friends. Now the building felt althoughter too large; long wood paneled corridors lined with paintings and candles. 

It took him a few minutes to reach the library, stubbornly disregarding the constant tug in his chest that threatened to lure him away. He felt tired, especially as he looked around at the low tables and towering bookcases; the deep browns intermixed with little lines of red, green and blue. 

The call sounded again, reverberating off of the high ceiling and walls, ricocheting around his head. 

“Listen,” he replied, exasperated. Drained. “I have so many better things to do then hear you. Save us both the trouble and cut it out?” 

The same melodic call answered him back; matching his stubbornness with a timeless patience.

On a whim, he let out a soft, answering call of his own; not the same as the siren’s, only two short notes. That familiar call immediately came back to him, as reliable as ever. He sighed, giving a rude gesture to the air before he turned around and swept out of the room, already bored with the place. 

“You’re not some fucking voice,” he snapped as he stormed down the hallway once more, bipassing his room and beline-ing towards the parlor. “I know this shit. You’re ringing in my ears or- or my imagination or something. No one else can hear you, and I’m not fucking crazy.” 

He threw the door open with a cautionless _‘slam’_ and stalked across the dark sitting room, pausing in front of a small wooden table, lit only by a tall candle and backed with a large mirror. 

“Besides,” he told his reflection, narrowing his eyes, “Even- _even_ if you were real- I can’t leave here. I can’t go anywhere, my family is here, my friends- everyone I’ve ever fucking loved lives in these halls.” 

He willed the call to listen, to back off- and he glared harder.

“So I’m not fucking hearing you- I’m gonna ignore you, asshole.”

Only himself looked stubbornly back, blue-eyed, pale and angry, his light hair and the bags under his eyes giving him a sallow, wilted look. 

He let out a groan of frustration and whirled around, throwing his arms up helplessly and causing the candle flame to flicker. His chest nearly ached, the pressure building and with a burst of energy that couldn’t have been his own, he shoved through the nearby balcony doors; instantly caught by the swirl of cold air and snow. 

John’s hands were on the railing before he quite even realized what he was doing, and suddenly he was leaning forward, that familiar call on his lips; clear and loud, and it rang out over the landscape, dancing over the fjord and the lake and the townhouses below. 

The answering call was sweet and empty and deflated him like a balloon, left him tired again; strangely sad. He pushed off the balcony with a sigh and went back inside, letting his feet carry him through the halls and down the stairs, towards the ramparts. 

“Just tell me what you want,” he breathed, soft and desperate. “Please, I- I haven’t been sleeping. You’re keeping me up. Is this sabotage somehow? Have I fucked something up?”

He was ranting aloud and waving his arms frantically by the time he reached the small door at the bottom of the rampart tower that took him straight to the fjord. The metal handle was cold beneath his palm as he used his other hand to fumble the small key on the chain around his neck out from under his sweater and slide it into the lock, hand trembling slightly. 

He slipped outside once more, pulling the door shut behind him. The frosted grass crunched beneath his feet as he slowly made his way down the cobbled-out stairs that led him directly to the water; where the earth led into slow, rippling waves. 

“Maybe,” John whispered softly, stepping down onto the rocky beach, the water a few inches from the tips of his boots. “Maybe you’re someone like me.” 

He couldn’t dare to hope, dare to think, but here in the silent night, where time felt infinite, where he felt completely and utterly alone- he wished. Begged, even. 

“Maybe you know...I’m not supposed to be here. With all of them. I’m not like them.” A sudden warmth zipped through his fingers and he clenched his fist tightly, trying to squander the feeling. 

Despite his effort, John felt them; the tug in his gut that meant a spirit was near. He heard of the soft rustling of their movement around him, knew he was drawing them up without really meaning to. 

“It’s getting harder,” he burst out, voice raising and he whirled around, paced the beach desperately. “I feel it growing- my power, it’s stronger. You’re stronger, I can’t ignore you anymore! And they come, even when I don’t call them. They’re around me- I feel them!” 

He was shouting now, loud and panicked, and the familiar cool breeze of a spirit swirled around him, rushed across his torso and down his arm and he breathed out slowly, letting the gentle comfort from the invisible being drag his tension with it. 

“Sometime I want to...to go,” he admitted softly as he felt another spirit emerge, let the warmth zip through his fingertips and arms and deep into his chest, felt the tug of the siren pull harder. “Sometimes I wonder if it’d be better for me...wherever you are. If I belong there, in the unknown.” 

The call rung out again, echoing from far across the lake; from somewhere out of sight. 

Again, that alien energy suddenly coursed through John’s veins, brightly cold and exhilarating, and when a third spirit’s presence rose from the ground, swam around him encouragingly, he took off running down the beach. 

Ahead of him a large ledge of earth rose up into the air, jutted out above the lake and he sprinted for it, because it was higher, further- closer to the siren’s call which was rising, swirling around him. 

His chest burned, his heart hammered as his boots slammed into frozen dirt, as he felt an echo of the siren’s call leave his own lips once more, louder and stronger and he got another answer; but the voice felt fainter, like it was slipping away. 

“Don’t leave me!” he cried suddenly. The idea felt terrifying, felt like insolation, felt like loneliness. He could feel his spirits swirling around him, propelling him forward and he ran with them, up the embankment, one arm thrown out towards the stars. “Please, I can’t be alone anymore-”

The ground froze slid beneath his feet, caught him when he ran so fast his slid off the edge of the cliff and stood high on a pillar of crystal clear ice, the wind swirling around him, the air howling with the sound the Other World and rippling with force and he felt hot and cold all at once as he sung out, as the siren’s voice melded with his own into one, single, breathless note. 

The sudden emptiness as the spirits flooded away and the stifling silence of the night returned brought him to his knees once more, huddled on his spike of ice above the lake, shivering. 

He felt cold, and the siren was silent.


End file.
